Hogwarts: Magick and Drugs
by A Silver Sickle
Summary: Harry meets a boy named Peachy Keen, an unusual boy who introduces Harry to a new way of life; a new way of coping. Can Harry withstand peer pressure, or will he return to Hogwarts a changed Wizard; and whose unusually first to notice these symptoms? R.
1. Peachy Keen

**Hogwarts: Magick and Drugs.**

**Life isn't fair. A plausible enough excuse for 16 year old Harry Potter to decide that enough is enough. During a rough summer with the Dursley's, Harry meets a boy named Peachy Keen who introduces him to a new way of coping. Bringing his newly found habits back to Hogwarts with him, Harry begins an uncertain trek towards rock bottom; however an unsuspecting someone becomes the first to notice the symptoms.**

**Rated R for references to abuse.**

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><p><em>All Harry Potter related content belongs to J.K Rowling. <em>

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><p><strong>Hogwarts: Magick and Drugs<strong>

**Chapter One: Peachy Keen**

Harry Potter stood at the front door of his Aunt and Uncle's house at Number Four Privet Drive. He sheltered his lean frame as close to the wooden door as possible, the steady pace of misty rain licking the back of his jacket. He was locked out. This wasn't an irregular occurrence, Harry was used to standing around on the porch door, though the weather proved dismal, otherwise he would have taken a stroll around Magnolia Crescent.

Pulling a stick of gum from his pocket, he played with the tin foil wrapping, bending it into shapes - a wand, his cloak, a snake, a snitch. For the past month and a half, Harry had been spending all his time outside of his relatives home, much to the joy of his Uncle Vernon, by the way. Now it wasn't that Privet Drive was the core of excitement; excitement did not exist in this little housing estate, the news of the week usually contained rumours and whispers of someone changing their hair colour, or Margaret Byrne's son being fired. The reason Harry had spent so long outside was simply because he was a wizard - or a freak, depending on who you asked.

Nothing helped this 'abnormality', as his relatives called it. Not counselling, yelling, beatings, lack of privileges, not even sleeping in a cupboard under the stairs (though those years were long passed since receiving his letter to Hogwarts). So once more, on this Tuesday night, he found himself stranded outside until the Dursley's decided to return home from wherever they were.

'They'll be a while,' a voice called from next door. It was only Lisa Philpot, a small, ageing house wife who spent all year, every year, in competition with Petunia Dursley to see whose garden looks prettier. "They've gone for a meal to celebrate Dudley's school grades."

'Yeah, thanks.' he muttered, heading down the garden path. Better soaked in the rain than chat to her, he thought.

Turning right, he headed for the tunnel near the playground; his shoes were irritating his feet as the cracks in his converse absorbed every inch of water he made contact with. The tunnel was poorly lit and looked cold and dreary, even from this distance. Though he sought shelter beneath it, he kept warily close to the exit, watching the main road for signs of the Dursley's car. His Uncle would ensure he got a fine thumping if he were found hanging around the tunnel; it was mostly for scumbags, people who hung around corners and vandalised. Harry wondered how Mr Dursley would react to finding out that his precious Dudley spent most evenings smoking in the tunnel.

'Pissy night, isn't it."

Harry turned, his hand instinctively moving to the waistband of his jeans where he stored his wand. The voice echoed from somewhere near the bend in the tunnel; it was dark there, the light flickered dimly.

'Whose there?' he asked, watching the shadows flicker across the wall.

From within them, a figure stepped into the light. A tall boy, taller than Harry by far, with tightly shaven hair and a curling fringe stared at him. He wore a gold earring in one ear and looked as though he had been through the mill a few times; his clothes far baggier and dirty than Harry's.

'Pissy night, isn't it." he repeated, leaning against the wall opposite Harry.

'I guess, yeah.' Harry said, his fingers twitching uncomfortably against the outline of his wand.

It wasn't that he was paranoid, at least he didn't think he was. But he reckoned it was fairly uncharacteristic for a normal person to lurk in the shadows and compliment on the weather. He reminded himself that he wasn't normal though and normal things never happened to him so ultimately, no, he concluded that this wasn't uncharacteristic.

'Up to much?' the boy asked.

Harry shrugged. 'Same as you, s'pose.'

The boy flinched, his gaze flickering across Harry's face. 'Haven't seen you round here before.' It was more of a demand for information, than an innocent mark of curiosity.

'I haven't seen you either,' Harry challenged. 'Live near here?'

'A bit.'

They stood quietly, the only sound was that of dripping rain from the cracks and the slow decrease of rain. Harry kept his gaze focused on a patch of weeds hanging from the roof, watching cautiously from the corner of his eyes at the boys movements. He had never seen him before, not in Privet Drive or Magnolia at least. Perhaps he belonged to a neighbouring estate? A rival estate. Though Harry had no friends in the Muggle world, thanks to his cousin Dudley, he still needed to be wary of rival estates; just because he didn't know them, didn't mean they wouldn't attack - another reason he had to thank Dudley who frequently started these petty rivals.

'What's your name?' the boy asked.

'Neville,' Harry blurted, inwardly cringing at his hasty answer - the second time in two years he'd used Neville's name.

'Peachy,' the boy replied.

'There's not a lot to be peachy about with that kind of name,' Harry said, cocking an eyebrow at his own daringness. 'It's fairly average.'

The boy barked a gruff laugh and scratching behind one ear, he shook his head and said, 'That's my name - Peachy. Peachy Keen.'

Harry cocked an eyebrow. He was tempted to laugh. Who named their child Peachy Keen?

'I know what you're thinking,' Peachy said, 'Ridiculous, isn't it? Me mam was stoned on painkillers when she gave birth to me. When the doc asked what she was gonna' call me, she thought he asked how she was doin' - so she said peachy keen!'

'Sorry.' Harry smirked.

'Don't be, it get's a few laughs round the fire and at least I've got something original about myself. Unlike you.'

Tempted to smirk at this strange boys ignorance - nothing original? - Harry smiled softly instead. Sometimes he wished that there was nothing original about himself, that he was just normal. Your average boy next door who had normal teenage problems, with normal teenage pimples instead of strange scars. There was a time, long before Harry had discovered that he was a Wizard, when the only thing that he really liked about himself was his scar; now that he had learned the true meaning behind his scar, he didn't fancy it has much anymore. In fact, for the whole summer it had tingled annoyingly.

'So look, the weathers pissy, right? Well I've got a place we can hang out if you want, just round the corner like.'

Harry shook his head. 'Sorry, but it's late. I'd better head home.'

'It's only half 7!'

Harry shrugged. Pushing himself away from the wall, he unzipped his wet jacket and stepped out from under the tunnel. He turned to say bye, but found Peachy walking towards him. His fingers clutched the handle of his wand.

'I'll walk with ya'.' he said, 'I wana' go to the shop anyway.'

Surprising himself, Harry didn't object. He strolled somewhat happily alongside Peachy, they weren't friends, how could they be - they just met! But it was certainly a change of company, talking to Hedwig gets boring.

'Smoke?' Peachy asked, offering Harry a cigarette.

'Haven't tried it,' Harry said, eyeing the smoking red tip. The smoke spiralled transfixing from it, forming little circles and then being blown harshly away by the breeze.

'Oh really? Why's that then?'

'Dunno,' he said, sticking his hands in his pockets and shrugging, 'Never got offered.'

Peachy stopped, held the cigarette out and nodded. 'Go on then,' he said. 'Everyone says that it's bad for you and that you'll feel crap after it, but that's not true,' he added, seeing the weary look on Harry's face. 'I've been smokin' about 4 years now and I'm as cool as a breeze.'

'I don't know,' said Harry, 'I mean we're close to where I live and-'

'You're not chicken are you?' Peachy asked, narrowing his eyes. He shrugged and withdrew the offer, his lips pursed into a tight smirk. 'You don't look the chicken type is all.'

'I'm not chicken!' Harry snapped.

'I didn't say you were.'

'Gimmie the thing,' Harry said, sticking his hand out.

Peachy smirked. 'No, no. If you're not … up to it.'

Harry glared at him. 'Give it to me, don't be a prat.'

'Alright, alright,' Peachy said, holding his hands up defensively. He took a cigarette from the blue box and passed it to Harry. 'Need a light?'

'Obviously.' Harry muttered, taking the fag and lighter.

A flicker of butterfly sensations had erupted in his stomach, he felt afraid, yet excited. It was something new, different and rebellious - something he'd never tried before. Something he knew that even Ron and Hermione had never tried - wait until he told them! He popped the cigarette between his lips, the smell of raw tobacco swirled around his taste buds - it was unpleasing, rough. His fingers fumbled with the lighter, his attention drawn hastily to the reggae colours printed on the plastic; he hoped he was doing this right, as his thumb flicked across the switch, the flame appeared, then faltered with a spark. He felt a flush of red on his cheeks. He tried again, and again, and again and finally a flame took, he drew it close to the end of the cigarette, watching it dance in the breeze, then craned his neck forward, engulfing the tip of the fag. He watched as the edges of the paper roll sizzled black, the light crackling of flamed tobacco taking to the fire and then he inhaled deeply. A torrent of thick smoke engulfed his entire mouth, the course flavour burned his nose, scratched at his throat and his eyes began to water. Resisting the temptation to cough and make a fool of himself, he hastily blew the smoke from his mouth. Thank God for that.

'Good, isn't it?' Peachy said, mistaking Harry's look of relief for pleasure.

'Yeah, it's grand.' he replied, dangling the fag in his hand.

'Finish it before you go,' Peachy told him, then opened the blue box again and handed him another. 'Take this one two, you might get thirsty for one later. I'm gonna' head off anyway, it's getting late and I'm meeting a friend.'

'Oh… eh, thanks.' Harry said, hoping he didn't sound too pleased at the thoughts of Peachy leaving. He took the cigarette and put it in his jacket pocket.

'See you tomorrow, right?' Peachy asked, stepping off the footpath.

'I don't know, maybe, I guess yeah.'

'By the tunnel, right? About 7, we can hang out and stuff and I don't know, talk.'

'Sure,' Harry said, 'See you.'

As Peachy's figure disappeared amongst the shadows, Harry puzzled on the strangeness of tonight. For the first time in fourteen years, Harry had made a friend … no, a companion, without being the source of topic, or being the famous boy who lived - he had just met someone and chatted and it felt good. He eyed the cigarette in his hand, it was slowly smouldering away; knowing right from wrong, he should have thrown it away, he wasn't stupid and he knew the effects of smoking. But he didn't. instead, he drew the thin stick to his lips, took another puff and let the smoke tingle his tongue, slowly adjusting to the course of fresh nicotine flowing throughout his system.

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><p><strong>Written by A Silver Sickle<strong>

**Comments are appreciated. **


	2. The Shed

**Hogwarts: Magick and Drugs**

**Chapter Two: The Shed**

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><p>The afternoon sun had long gone when Harry had finished polishing Dudley's boxing trophies. It had been a long time since he had been given chores in the Dursley's household, he pretty much assumed that they were too terrified of his 'abnormality' to make requests; but Vernon Dursley was not impressed when a drenched and bedraggled looking Harry, had come knocking on the front door at 8:30pm the night before. The argument that ensued was heated and lengthy, Harry screaming about being locked out, Vernon yelling about the Dursley name being stained with the likes of Harry, Petunia frantically hushing everyone in case Lisa Philpot heard and Dudley complained loudly about a scratched playstation disc.<p>

'I'm finished.' he said, coming into the kitchen and dropping the rag on the draining bored.

'Don't put that there!' Petunia snapped, 'You'll stain the metallic.'

'Sorry.'

'You heard your aunt, boy!' Uncle Vernon yelled, 'Get that cloth away!'

Harry snatched the cloth up and tossed it onto the windowsill. Turning his back, he ran the warm water and washed the scent of lavender polish from his hands. He glanced at the clock - 6:45pm. He had been thinking about last night, about his arrangements with Peachy Keen, the strange boy from the tunnel. Was it wise to meet with him? He had only known him an hour or so, he could be anyone. He glanced down at his jeans pocket, the outline of the cigarette was showing. For a moment, he tried to remember the taste of smoking, how it felt, but he could not recall the texture it left in his mouth, not even the crackling sound of tobacco taking to the flame.

_I'll try again later,_ he thought to himself, _just to remember the taste and the smell; just to tell Ron and Hermione. Nothing else._

'Your tea is in the pot,' Aunt Petunia said.

Harry looked: cold beans, dry toast and a burnt sausage. 'I'll have it later,' he remarked, throwing a look of disgust at the back of her head.

'You'll have it now or never,' Uncle Vernon snapped, pointing at him with a fork, his half chewed sausage dangling from the end.

'Fine then!' Harry barked, 'See you at breakfast.'

He stormed from the kitchen, grabbing his jacket from the hallway and slammed the door behind him. Stomping down the garden path, he just resisted temptation to crash through his aunts flowers. His jacket, still damp from last night, clung to his back and sent a strong shiver up his spine. As he flew through Privet Drive in a rage, he imagined he looked a right mess; his face tinged with raging red, his hair flying in the breeze and his clothes covered in polish stains, not to mention the smell of flowers that was now radiating from him.

He arrived at the tunnel quicker than expected, surprised to find Peachy already there. He nodded at him, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth and a peaked cap covering his cropped hair.

'Took you long enough,' Peachy said, handing him a cigarette.

'I've got the other one you gave me,' Harry said, pulling it from his pocket. It was bent awkwardly. He accepted the lighter from Peachy and dangling the cigarette from his mouth, lit it with ease, his knuckles white with temper as he forced the spark. Inhaling deeply, he allowed the smoke linger in his mouth, memorising every feeling, every scent and then exhaled. He was surprised at how much more calm he felt.

'Come on, let's go.' Peachy said, turning from him and leading the way out through the other side of the tunnel.

Harry followed, the cigarette dangling from between his fingers, casually taking a puff every now and then. Right now he couldn't care just how weird it was to be following Peachy Keen, he didn't care if Peachy was Voldemort in disguise, right now he just wanted to sit down somewhere, with normal people and chill.

'Here we are, look,' Peachy said, pointing to a row of dilapidated flats at the bottom of a hill.

'Where are we?' Harry asked, looking around. The floor was littered with shards of glass, broken bicycle wheels, black bags full of concealed rubbish and empty drinking cans.

'The Glen,' Peachy said, kicking a can of Dutch Gold larger from his path, 'Don't you know? It's been this way for years, only a few people still live here, old folks mostly. As you can see, it's not the nicest of places.' He guided Harry into the third flat, each of the windows were boarded up and coloured graffiti tags of names and love hearts covered the walls. 'You don't seem very familiar with these areas.' He added, casting a glance at Harry.

'I've never been this far away from my house,' Harry explained, hoping to ward Peachy from his suspicions. 'I'm only here during the summer time so I don't bother exploring.'

Peachy shrugged and stopped outside a wooden door. He knocked twice, then whistled. Harry was about to question this, when he heard a latch slide from behind the door. It cracked a little, and a pair of eyes peered out.

'Whose tha?' the gruff voice asked, his eyes resting fiercely on Harry.

'This is Neville,' said Peachy, pulling Harry closer to the door. The eyes bore into his own. 'He's fine.'

The voice grunted and the owner opened the door, revealing himself to be a tall, thick, elephant like teenager. He had hair falling in greasy waves around his pimpled face and the stubbles of a moustache on his top lip. Harry looked up at him, gave a half hearted smile and grunted a 'Thanks.'.

Peachy closed the door behind him and cleared his throat for attention. There were only four others in the room, not including the elephant like body guard; three girls and one other boy. Each of them sat on battered old couches, clutching brown bottles in their hands, and dangling cigarettes from between their fingers. Harry would have been lying if he said that he did not feel intimidated. Each of them drew their gaze to Harry, their eyes examining him from head to toe. He subconsciously flattened his hair over his scar.

'Everyone, this is Neville,' Peachy said, pointing to Harry, 'He lives on the other side of the tunnel and he's cool with me.'

A moment of silence then a round of 'Hey, Neville' , 'Alright kid' and 'S'up' met his ears. He tried to smile in what he hoped was a cool and calm manner, but knew it was probably a ridiculous twitch of his mouth.

'This is Emma, and she's brilliant with drawing,' Peachy explained, pointing to a blonde girl in the far chair, 'that's Rupert, her boyfriend, and that's Julia and Dru, and that's Eric' he said pointing to the dark skinned boy, the brown haired girl with glasses, the short haired girl with colourful bracelets and the elephant like teenager.

'Come and sit here,' Dru said, patting the empty seat next to her.

Harry made his way across the littered floor and perched himself awkwardly on the edge of the couch. 'Thanks.' he muttered, then began picking at the knee of his jeans.

'So Neville, what's it like on the other side of the tunnel?' Rupert asked. His voice was light, but had a thick London accent.

Harry shrugged. 'It's alright, I suppose. Not much difference I mean, it's really boring.'

'Any bobbies been around that way lately?'

Harry frowned. 'Bobbies?'

Rupert chuckled, slapping his knee and jerking foreword with laughter. 'Jesus, you really are from the other side aren't you?' he laughed, ignoring the look of annoyance on Harry's face.

'Shut up, Rupert,' Peachy said, handing a brown bottle to Harry and seating himself on the edge of Julia's chair. 'Bobbies are pigs, the shades. Policemen, y'know?'

'Oh yeah, them,' Harry said, feeling a little embarrassed, 'No, they haven't been around. Why?'

Rupert, Eric and Peachy exchanged looks. Harry watched them.

'Promise not to tell?' Peachy said.

'Yeah, sure.'

'He said promise!' Eric barked.

Harry jumped. 'Alright, alright. I promise not to tell.'

Peachy took a swig from his bottle and turned to face Harry. 'The other side, your side,' he began, 'Well, you're all very well known for being stuck up and fancy about what you all have. This side, my side, well … we're different. We like to have fun and have a laugh, like right now.'

'How we're all hanging out in the Shed,' Rupert said.

'That's what this place is called,' Julia added, 'The Shed.'

'Sometimes we like to smoke and do some stuff,' Peachy continued, 'Stuff that isn't exactly legal, like.'

'You mean like steal?' Harry asked, a note of dryness on his voice. Stealing wasn't exactly top notch for his standards, he'd often stole ink from Ron, or chocolate frogs from Hermione - all in good spirit though!

Eric scoffed loudly and rolled his eyes. 'He doesn't mean steal you twit, he means popping pills! Jesus.'

'Relax Eric,' Dru said, throwing him a look.

'He's from the other side mate,' Rupert smirked, 'Remember?'

Harry clenched his fist. 'Shut up.' he snapped. He glanced quickly to Eric, monitoring his reaction, wondering if he was going to pound him in the face. Instead, Eric just smirked and threw a cigarette but at Rupert.

'Pills. Poppers. Reefs.' Peachy explained, knocking them off on his fingers as he listed them. 'You name it.'

'But why?' Harry asked.

'Look, Neville,' Eric said, turning to face him, 'Imagine having a really rough day. You've ditched school and got caught, you've got detention, your parents are wrecking your head, telling you what to do, you feel pissed off and angry and just can't fucking take it anymore. What are you gonna' do, kill yourself?'

'That'd be stupid,' Dru said.

'Agreed.' they all muttered.

'So what do you do?' Eric continued and from within his pocked he pulled a plastic bag, 'You roll a joint, take a few puffs and forget the world. Leave all them bastards behind, Neville. It's the only way.'

A murmured round of agreeing came from each of them. Harry nodded, acknowledging Eric's sentiments. Leave them all behind? That sounded amazing. As the others broke into casual talk, discussing people they had met over the week, school, the best place to buy, Harry swirled the amber liquid in his bottle. It smelled strong, almost stale. The label read Budweiser, he was familiar with this beer having seen Uncle Vernon serve it at a barbeque in July. From what he witnessed there, it must have been the next best thing since juices, because everyone seemed to drink it quickly. He brought the bottle to his lips, tipped it slightly and let a trickle of froth in; it wasn't exactly tasty, it was strong and made his mouth water. He took another swig, more this time.

'So Neville,' Dru said, nudging him gently with her elbow, 'Do you go to school around here?'

Harry swallowed the beer and shook his head. 'No, I don't.' he replied, picking at the hole in his jeans again.

'Oh? Where do you go then? I've heard of people being home schooled.'

'I go to St. Brutus's,' he said, hoping that this answer was enough. He wished he could say he went to an amazing magical school, one where trees fought you, stair cases tried to trip you and where he spent most days escaping the clutches of deadly enemies.

'I haven't heard of that school, is it near?' she asked.

'No.'

She nodded, making a little noise and then smiled at him. For a while, Harry examined her bracelets, she had at least 20 of them around her wrists of all different colours; some with glitter, some with stripes and others with dots. He had never seen them before, but they looked interesting - colourful and unusual, fashionable, he assumed. He put the bottle to his mouth again, shocked to find he had emptied it.

'Another?' Rupert asked.

Harry shrugged. 'Yeah, please.'

He took the bottle, twisted the cap and swirled the froth. This time, it tasted fresh and sweet, like a long lost taste; a taste he had been craving for some time, but could never find it. His fingers moved to his pocket, was he looking for a cigarette? He shook the thought. As he surveyed them, his eyes flicking from each face to the next, he thought about just how much of an unusual bunch they were. How strange it was that yesterday he was that loner teenager that wondered around the streets, rummaging in bins for newspapers but today, he was Neville, that normal teenager who smokes and is having his first real teenage experience.

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><p><strong>Written by A Silver Sickle<strong>

**Comments are appreciated.  
><strong>_A special thanks to the user **SITHTAR** for being the first to review this 'experiment' as I like to call it. Appreciation to those who added this story to alerts etc,. _


	3. Speed and Weed

**Hogwarts: Magick and Drugs**

**Chapter Three: Speed and Weed**

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><p><em>Ron-<em>

_Sorry for the late reply, Hedwig didn't come back for ages. I think Snuffles might be living really far away because she looked beat coming back. He's doing well anyway, his reply says that he's comfortable. How has your summer been? I hope you had a good time. Mine has been pretty much the same, the Dursley's are driving me insane though! They complain about everything and I can't believe how much polishing they've made me do, Filch couldn't out best them! I can't wait to get back to Hogwarts, really miss flying and the feasts. Let me know when you're heading to London to buy books - Harry._

_P.S Thanks for the birthday present, tell your mum I said thanks too!_

He rolled the parchment into a tight scroll and tied it to Hedwig's left leg. She hooted softly as he ran his fingers through her feathers. Picking up a piece of biscuit, he broke it into four bits, giving her a chip to chew on.

'Just one more, alright girl,' he told her, leaning over his desk, 'It's for Hermione.'

_Hermione-_

_How are you? How has summer been? My summer has been the same as always, though I've spent some time looking over potions notes. I had word from Snuffles and he's said he's well and comfortable. Thanks very much for the Birthday present, by the way, sorry that I couldn't reply sooner. The book was interesting. I asked Ron about meeting in Diagon Alley and I'll let you know what he says - Harry._

Tying the second scroll to Hedwig's free leg, Harry brushed off the feeling of guilt he had from telling Hermione he had been studying and that her book was interesting. Harry thought Hermione was great and all that, but sometimes she lacked the ability to pull herself away from study and lessons. Birthdays aren't meant to be about getting books to learn from, he believed, birthdays were about cake - not Hagrid's rock cakes though! - and surprises. Realising how ungrateful he sounded, he shook the thoughts and remembered just how luck he was to have a birthday at all.

Rummaging through a pile of dirty clothes, he found a jumper and pulled it over his head. It smelled faintly of stale grime; he ignored it and proceeded to roll beneath his bed in search of socks. Pulling a ball of lint from one, he shoved them on with his trainers and left his room.

'You're going out an awful lot lately.'

Harry turned. Dudley stood at the top of the stairs, leaning heavily against the wall. He watched Harry carefully, waiting for an answer.

'What's it to you?' Harry asked.

'Just wondering is all. I mean, it's not as if you have any friends, is it? Not here in this normal world anyway.' he smirked, crossing his arms.

Harry ignored the comment, he had spent far too long in Dudley's presence to play into his games. 'Again, what's it to you?'

Dudley shrugged, his face then crumpling into a look of disgust. 'I'm watching you Potter. Just remember that.'

'You're watching me?' Harry chuckled, raising an eyebrow. He shook his head and jumped the last two stairs into the hallway. 'Shut up Dudley.'

When Harry had safely rounded the corner out of Privet Drive, he pulled a box of cigarettes from his pocket. The blue box read _John Player Blue_, Peachy had given it to him. Lighting the cigarette, or the 'fag' as he was told he should call them, Harry began to wonder why Peachy was even being nice to him. It was strange, how they had just weirdly met that day in the tunnel. Are friendships that easy to start? Does it only take a random encounter? Harry didn't know, and honestly he didn't care, he just valued having someone normal around him for a change. Someone who wasn't magical and who wasn't stuck up - just normal.

It was a cold Saturday night, he had agreed to meet Peachy at the park. He wasn't sure what they were doing, probably just hanging out - that's what the usually did: smoking fags, drinking a few beers. Eric had taught him how to conceal the smell of smoke from his clothes and breath going home and warned him of washing his hands incase they began to stain yellow. Harry shuddered to imagine the reaction of the Dursley's if they found out. In fact, as he settled himself into one of the swings, he wondered would they care at all? Smoking made you ill, in the long run; it blackened your lungs, increased your risk of cancer, ruined your teeth and throat and gave you bad breath. Would the Dursley's care that Harry's health was slowly being diminished? He snorted at the thoughts. Of course they wouldn't.

A figure came slowly through the gate of the park, Harry recognised the outline as being that of Dru's. She was a nice girl, he had decided, her personality mimicked her dress sense - wild! Harry enjoyed spending time with her.

'Hey!' she chirped, coming up the playground and settling into a swing next to him. 'Cold, isn't it?'

'Freezing!' Harry agreed. He held his fag out to her, 'Smoke?'

She shook her head. 'Nah. I had one on the way.' She kicked her feet against the ground, swaying lightly. 'It won't be long more and you'll be heading back to school.'

'Yeah, I know. Three weeks.'

'Looking foreword to it?'

He shrugged and truthfully answered. 'I don't know. I guess I am, I mean I miss the place and the friends I have there.'

Dru nodded. 'You gonna' miss here?'

He shrugged again. 'I guess.'

'Look, Neville -'

A loud, erratic car horn broke her speech. They both looked up and a silver Fiat Punto flashed it's lights at them.

'That's Eric,' Dru said, jumping from the swing. 'Come on.'

Harry took a fast puff from his fag and threw it to the ground, forgetting to stamp on it and followed Dru through the park. He didn't know that Eric drove. He was secretly delighted though, it beat a night of hanging out on a corner, stamping his feet to keep warm.

'Good evening,' Eric greeted them, as they clambered into the back. 'Buckle up ladies and gents.'

He turned the wheel and revved the engine; pumping the gas, he spun the wheels and screeched through the terraces, weaving manically through cars and around corners. Harry jerked wildly in the back of the car, his elbows beating against the door.

'Where are we heading?' Harry asked.

'My gaff,' Peachy said, 'My folks are gone for the weekend, so we can have some smokes and drinks; play the playstation and watch the telly.'

'Sounds cool,' Harry said, then he turned to Dru, 'So what were you saying back there?'

She shrugged. ' Oh, nothing. Just wondering about school and all that.'

'Oh, ok then. So where's Emma and Julia?' he asked, 'And Rupert?'

'Emma and Julia are at training tonight, they both play on the football team,' Eric said, 'I don't know where Rupert is.'

'I think he's grounded,' Dru said, 'I saw his mum storming around the road yesterday, she looked well pissed off.'

'Bet the idiot's stash was found,' Peachy grunted, twisting the radio knobs and flicking through the stations. He rested on a song Harry had never heard before, there were guitars and drums and a rhythmic beat. He enjoyed it.

'It's a balls if he did because my stash is running low,' Dru said, then added in surprise, 'Neville! You have no stash!'

'Eh, no, I don't…' he said, not sure what a stash was.

'You've got no stash?' Eric gasped, watching him through the mirror. 'Jesus Neville, and your going back to school soon without one? Don't all you private school boys take a stash?'

Harry shook his head. 'I don't know, never saw them anyway.'

Peachy swivelled in his seat. 'Tell you what,' he said, 'Bring me thrity pound next week and I'll give you a stash for school. Just don't tell anyone alright. I'm going cheap because I like you, Neville.' he winked at him, smiling.

'Yeah, alright,' Harry said, frowning slightly when he turned away. His insides had begun to flutter with worry. What was a stash? It must have been something brilliant, considering they all sounded shocked and thirty pound! Where was he going to get thirty pound? His relatives would never, in a million years even consider giving it to him, not for anything!

'Here we are,' Eric announced, parking the car outside a row of suburban houses, similar to those of Privet Drive, though less orderly and tidy.

They clambered from the car and followed Peachy through into the house. He opened the door, ushering them in and led to them to the living room. It was a beautiful house, in Harry's opinion. Far nicer than the Dursley's, not as clean, but it had that lived in sort of look. Like people actually spent time here, whereas the Dursley's house looked unused and perfect.

'Crack the stash, Peach,' Eric said, rubbing his hands together and settling onto the couch, 'And give Neville one. He has none for the mean time.'

Harry laughed half heartedly. 'It's grand,' he said, sitting in an armchair, 'I don't need anything.'

'Shut up, Nev.' Peachy said, pushing his shoulder and handing him a plastic bag, 'Make yourself one while I go get the food.'

He eyed the bag. Inside, a few lumps of green, lumpy looking vegetation were clumped together. Was this what he thought it was? Was this… hash? He lowered the bag and watched Eric and Dru shred some of the green into a roll of paper, licked one side then casually rolled it tight. Eric licked his lips.

Harry felt sick. There were always reports of drug dealers being caught with thousand of pounds worth of hash on the television, they ended up getting fined and sent to prison. He bit his lip. He couldn't just say no, could he? If he dropped the bag and said no, would they still be his friends? Would they laugh or taunt him? Peachy would laugh, Harry knew that. Like he had laughed at the cigarette. Eric would laugh, like he had laughed at Harry not knowing the street terminology for policemen. Would Dru laugh? He wondered. Even if she didn't, she looked like was enjoying rolling hers. He didn't want to make a fool of himself.

Opening the bag, he took some out, it felt like herbs, though with a very pungent odour. He crumbled it across his strip of rolling paper, a sweat breaking on his neck and his stomach knotting with anxiety. He knew of all things that this was wrong.

'That'll be gone stale by the time you're finished with it,' Eric said, grabbing the paper from Harry, 'Let me do it.'

His thick fingers rolled the paper smoothly and expertly into a thin stick. Handing it back to Harry, he offered him a light. Harry accepted. He imagined it wouldn't be anything worse that smoking a fag, after all, weren't they sort of the same? Both in paper, both rolled, both smoked.

Harry puffed the end of the joint, his lungs full to bursting with smoke that itched and tore at his throat. Mimicking the actions of the others around him, he held the smoke in his lungs. Sputtering lightly, he exhaled, an array of smoke which reminded him of potions class clouded around him and his facer reddened.

'Good, isn't it?' Dru smiled.

He nodded, trying to silently cough. It wasn't really that good, he thought, just disgustingly strong.

* * *

><p>Harry swerved around a lamp post, stumbling erratically on the curb and just caught himself in time before a motorbike whizzed by.<p>

'Close one,' he chuckled to himself.

He shook his shaggy hair from his eyes, straightened up and wobbled foreword. His legs felt light and weak beneath his body, it was as if he had been sitting on them for hours and lost all feeling. When he tried turning left, he stumbled foreword; when he attempted to cross the road, he weaved dramatically to the right. A feeling of authority filled him. An inner beast, some strong desire of power began to bubble within him. _If Dudley crossed my path right now! _He thought, swinging a fist in the air, _I'd show him what's worth. _

Turning onto Privet Drive, Harry halted and looked around him. The night was dark, the street barely lit by the glowing lamps; a light summer breeze swirled around him and a feeling of bliss over took him. He could do just about anything that he wanted to do, anything at all and no one would dare stop him. Jogging towards number 4, he leaned over the low garden wall and grabbing a fist full of his aunts beautiful roses, he tore them from the hedging. Giggling eccentrically, he waved the roses around and threw them onto the floor.

_Take that, Petunia!_

Tumbling over the low wall, he stomped manically through sprouting daisies, brushed heavily against Uncle Vernon's newly polished car and smirked when a muddy print of his backside was left on the door.

_And you take that, Vernon!_

Another wave of laughter erupted from within him and he sat against the window sill, a strange, warm feeling leaking from the pit of his stomach and spreading throughout each limb. He had never felt better, not even after a warm night in the Gryffindor Tower, not even after a slab of Honeydukes finest chocolate washed down with butterbeer at Christmas time. Nothing could ruin his mood. Not even the thoughts of another 3 weeks with the Dursley's and especially not the twitching of the living room curtains behind him, or the sound of Uncle Vernon thundering down the hallway and flinging the door open.

* * *

><p><strong>Written by A Silver Sickle<strong>

**Comments are appreciated.  
><strong>_A special thanks to _**MADD GIRL**_ for reviewing. Appreciation to those who added this story to alerts etc,._


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